


the costumes will tell the story

by orphan_account



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: AU, Accidental Relationship, Blind Date, Christmas, Crossdressing, Dress Up, First Date, First Kiss, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike is a lonely photographer. Harvey is a successful lawyer. Jenny is the magical hazelnut. And everyone dresses up at some point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the man in the park

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magnacarta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnacarta/gifts).



> Thank you so, so, so much to the gorgeous people whose support kept me from going insane:  
> Nan, without whom this story would be a smoking pile of ash, and also, who provided like, half the funny lines and a ton of constructive criticism. While she had guests. And stuff to do. In like, THREE DAYS. Also, psychotherapy while I needed it :D  
> And Kim, who gave some great advice and also did some magically quick read-throughs and provided a lot of motivational support as well.  
> Thank you, my dears, you are amazing.

_Sunday, December 11_

It was four in the afternoon when Mike woke up, and it was, he immediately decided, not a good afternoon. There was a bra on the bed next to him, lipstick on his pillow, and someone had written him a note with a number on it. He'd have called that a success, if he'd actually been straight. He rubbed his eyes. Oh well.

The bigger issue was that he was in Trevor's room. He had no idea how he'd gotten there, or why, nor did he really want to know. The only redeeming fact was that Trevor was not in bed with him. That _had_ happened once before. Mike had thankfully woken up first, and immediately fled the scene of the crime.

The room was a mess. There were pizza boxes on the floors. Every available surface was covered with glitter and confetti, and there was mistletoe glaring at him from above the door, the lamp, the windows, and a few of the picture frames on the walls. It explained why there had been so much making out last night. Mike winced at the sight of spilled beer on the carpet and the shot glasses stacked in a precariously pyramidal shape.

The sound of someone showering passed through the wall, and shortly after, the hum of song; the apartment might be spacious and comfortable, but it was also shittily sound-proofed. Mike smartly deduced that _someone_ must be home besides him and so he finally dragged himself out of bed.

As so often, he told himself to stop being a lazy asshole, get his shit together and stop acting like a frat boy gone wild; but in all honesty, he told himself the exact same thing every time he got up at four in the afternoon with a deadly hangover, and it hadn't stuck yet. He glanced at the bed and to the dresser next to it, the one with the framed picture on it. Trevor and Jenny smiled back at him, half-kissing, laughing happily. And he would have claimed loneliness made him do it, but Trevor had all that, and they were in pretty much the same boat. Maybe it was genetic.

He made it out of the room and into an even bigger mess, when the door to the shower opened and Jenny stepped out, wearing only a towel and her pink underwear that peeked out from underneath it. She spotted him and smirked. "I was wondering when you'd do a Jesus."

"Didn't take me three days, go me," Mike quipped. "Is Trevor out?"

"He needed to buy a new suit. I think he's nervous about today."

Mike frowned. "Today?"

"The Christmas party?" Jenny said. "At the firm? And they say you've a genius memory - you know what, forget it. Go, have a shower, I'll make you a coffee, let me just get dressed first."

Mike gave her a grateful smile and slinked past her into the bathroom. She'd cleaned up in there already; there was no vomit anywhere, though there were still spots where glitter covered smooth surfaces. The water was hot against his back as he soaped his hair and wondered what he was going to do for the rest of the day.

When he returned to the living room, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit his nose, he boldly decided he was going to do something substantial and productive with his day: save the planet from the alien invasion, or become a whale rider. After a thorough cost-benefit analysis, he settled on something a step more achievable: he was going to clean the apartment. It wouldn't make him feel less pathetic, but he also wouldn't get kicked out for being a lazy asshole roommate, which was something.

Jenny was wearing a stunning red cocktail dress. She was standing in front of the mirror (someone had written 'You. Me. Whipped Cream.' on it with dark red lipstick, and a little heart-shape next to it), and she was putting in her earrings. When she spotted him over her shoulder, her reflection smiled. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," Mike said. He pulled the towel snug, secured one side and walked over to the kitchen where Jenny had made him a cup with extra cream, cinnamon, and enough sugar to put a small dinosaur into a coma. "You're God," he moaned.

"And you're very welcome," Jenny said. "In return, you should help me with this."

"One sec." He greedily swallowed another large gulp, scalding his tongue, and headed over.

She was holding out a necklace. "The clasp is a nuisance."

It really was, and it took him a few moments to snap the ends into each other. He almost had it when the doorbell rang and made him jump; he swore, and had to start all over again. And it wasn't even like Trevor needed to ring, since he had the key. He was just an ass that way.

"Thought I'd give you a wake-up call." Trevor grinned when he saw them standing together. "You look stunning, girlfriend."

Mike grinned back. "Thanks."

Jenny snorted. He let her go with a "Done!" and she twirled over to Trevor, giving him a quick peck on the mouth. "Did you find a suit?"

Mike watched them and out of the corner of his eye caught sight of himself in the mirror; scrawny, unshaven, with pale kisses drawn on his neck and around his right nipple with a sharpie that even a good scrubbing hadn't removed. He didn't think he could do this much longer, living in their spare bedroom and watch them be perfect and successful and happy.

He slinked off to his room. He had a bed, a little closet, and a window that overlooked the dumpsters behind their apartment block. It felt like a cheap metaphor for the emptiness of his life, so he dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and his Batman t-shirt and decided that if he wanted to sulk, he might as well do it while pretend-fighting the criminal element on the mean streets of New York.

Jenny gave him a hug when he passed her to get to his shoes. "Anything I can do?"

Mike smiled at her. "You mean besides getting me a date with the first cute boy you crash into?"

Jenny kissed his forehead and said with a cheeky smile, "Don't sell yourself short. He'll be rich, too."

 

///

 

New York City, he'd often heard it say, was only exciting the first couple of years or so. Then it made people grow cold and bitter, which Mike thought was an appropriate emotional reaction when you had to dump more than seventy percent of your income on monthly rent. Being born here, he'd always felt like he was immune to all of that, but the last few days hadn't been too good.

The shop where he bought his groceries was just down the street. It took him a while to fight through to the brightly illuminated windows. The streets were heaped with snow, grey and dirty, and looking at the expensive Christmas decorations that were everywhere, he couldn't feel the spirit of the holidays.

In the store, he bought a pack of sandwich toasts, a big bucket of ice cream, and some cat food; then he went back to the apartment, hopeful that he'd spent enough time to just about miss them leaving for their perfect day in their perfect clothes with their perfect lives. He was fairly good usually at not letting any of this get to him, but it was starting to get old to be the odd one out all the time.

At least, he thought, cheering himself up mentally, he had the big TV screen that Trevor had bought as a Christmas present for the apartment a few days ago. It desperately needed testing.

When he got back and found the apartment empty, he toasted his bread and put on Jenny's 'Love Actually' DVD, which they hadn't gotten around to watching yet, this year. At the sound of the music intro of the movie, he looked around, sighed deeply, and started collecting boxes into a huge trash bag.

 

///

 

It took some serious magic to clean the apartment enough that it stopped smelling like a dive bar. Mike was enjoying the romantic kiss of the Prime Minister and his lovely assistant, Jenny's cat purring in his lap, kneading his thigh, when his phone rang. The number was blocked. It could have been a call-back, someone who had a miraculously cheap apartment to offer to him, and maybe also a stable job while they were at it. Since it was Christmas and all. He could dream.

It wasn't. It was Sam, asking if he wanted to get smashed, which Mike didn't. He'd decided that tonight, he preferred to impersonate an old cat lady. The cat appreciated that, too. They even shared the ice cream. By eleven, it was time for another one of these pesky decisions: was he going to go back to bed and sleep more, or get his ass off the couch and go out to take a few pictures.

He looked out the window. It had started to snow again. Mike loved the feeling of fresh snow on his hands, the sight of the huge feather flakes descending from the sky, so that settled it. He slipped into his jacket, found his scarf, his boots. He grabbed his camera, and soon he was outside. His breath turned into white fog before his face every time he exhaled.

The street down 8th Avenue wasn't as busy once he was past the Theater District and headed towards Central Park, though there was still a surprising amount of people up and about, coming from and going to bars and restaurants or just walking. He snapped a few photos inspired by a set of lights or a laughing face, but nothing that really struck him until the park entrance, when a woman - one of those corporate types – hurried past him without a second glance.

It always drove him nuts when assholes ran into his frame while he was half-kneeling, taking pictures. She definitely ruined a few good ones, though he might have forgiven it, if, not half a minute later, another person hadn't fast-paced after her, trying hard and failing not to look suspicious.

Mike lowered his camera, watched them vanish into the park, and thought, what the hell; he might as well make sure everyone survived tonight. He stuffed his camera into its bag and hurried after them. He even kept out of the prominent lamp light illuminating the pathways, just like Agatha Christie always said, and kept an eye on the time. He had about half an hour until the park closed.

The man was tall, taller than Mike, and was wearing a long suit-covering jacket. His haircut was very 'rich business douche', as were his shoes, not that Mike had an intimate knowledge into any of that, thank you very much, Trevor. Twice, Mike thought he'd lost him only for him to reappear in a more heavily lit area. A few times, he stopped, looked around, and then redoubled his efforts.

The snow crunched under Mike's feet, but not loudly enough to announce his presence, when the man stopped again in one intersection; and then suddenly, out of nowhere, the woman reappeared.

"Stop following me, Harvey," she said coolly. "You're not being subtle."

"I'm not trying to be subtle," the man - Harvey - replied. "You've seen me be subtle for the past two months. Oh, no, wait. You haven't."

Mike bit his lip. The woman was slight and barely reached his shoulder. If this man was violent, she might not be able to fight him off, unless she was a secret ninja.

"You don't scare me," she said, much to Mike's surprise, with no false bravado in her voice. "You have nothing on me, and we both know it. So if I catch you coming after me again - or one of your little sycophants lurking near my apartment – I'm going to get a restraining order."

She turned around and was about to hurry off, but the man's arm shot out and caught her elbow. He leaned in. Mike reacted on impulse: he crouched down, and a moment later he'd thrown a snowball across the road harder and with a more precise aim than he'd ever managed in any of his four years in high school trying out for baseball.

The snow hit the man smack in the back of the head. The woman jerked free, saw her chance and fled, not quite running in her high heels, but close enough. He didn't follow her. Instead, he brushed the back of his head, and turned, and Mike was suddenly very glad he was hidden behind a group of low bushes.

"Who's there?"

Mike took a step back, then another one. It was almost one am; he didn't have much time, and nothing good could possibly come of it if this man spotted him. So he turned around – and ran smack into a tree. A snow avalanche descended. He barely managed to avoid being buried. His cover was up. Mike didn't even take the time to rub the newly forming bruise on his forehead, or dust off the snow; he ran.

///

 

He didn't get very far. The slippery ground, combined with the fact that he hadn't regularly exercised since the early 2000s, and his innate clumsiness, got him caught just as he reached one of the park exits closest to the spot of the earlier rendez-vous. That, at least, came in handy, the fact that he'd been here so often, had seen the park layout so often, that he could find any roads and paths and exits in his sleep.

"You're – you're just a kid, what are you doing out at this hour?" the guy asked, not even breathing fast. He had Mike by the throat against the metal bars of the portal that were pushing painfully against Mike's back.

Mike didn't think that was a very fair assessment, but then again, he wasn't going to protest if it helped with the not getting killed. "I have a brother," he babbled. "Well, almost-brother, but he would get very upset if something happened to me. And a best friend. She would, too. Actually, she would probably hunt you down and make you cry, but I'm not mentioning that, forget I said that. Is your name really Harvey? I should probably use that, so, uh, Harvey, I haven't had sex in like, two years, I honestly don't want to die, please don't kill me?"

"I'm not going to _kill_ you." Harvey let him go and took a step back, straightening out his coat as he did so. He was, Mike noted, way too handsome to be a serial killer.

"It's not a big leap to make," he said defensively. "You followed that lady into a dark, secluded area, and then she said something about you stalking her and you grabbed her arm. I was well within my rights to - to throw snow at you." He felt himself redden at Harvey's incredulous look.

"I thought you were with her, you idiot, that's why I followed you," Harvey said slowly. He paused. "For your information, I'm a lawyer. The woman I followed is an accessory to a murder in a case we're representing, related to a drug ring that operates in this area. So next time, try aiming for the real bad guy?"

Mike opened his mouth.

"Also, two years? Really?"

"Shut up," Mike said, his ears burning. "I'm humiliated enough, thanks."

"You hit me in the back of my head with a snowball. I think I'll decide when's enough," Harvey said, and then he just wandered off.

Mike stared after him, stomach flip-flopping for wholly different reasons than fear, with his knees a little more jelly than bone and flesh.

 

///


	2. the girl at the game

 

 _Thursday, December 15_

 

 _  
_

Low Christmas music could be heard coming from the kitchen when Mike came home in the evening. He was so deeply tired that he felt like he maybe shouldn't fall straight into bed just yet, or he might never get back up. He spent two minutes standing in the doorway contemplating whether or not to take his boots off, until Jenny yelled, "Mike? Is that you?", and that brought him out of his stupor.

"I'm not sure," he said honestly, and followed the smell of freshly baked honey rolls. They looked even more delicious than they smelled. Jenny had apparently just taken them out of the oven. He grabbed one, not only bone tired, but also with the reflexes of an Atkins octopus.

"… please, tuck in," Jenny deadpanned.

"Mh-mh," Mike managed, and slumped into one of the chairs, mouth full. Then he noticed the bruise on her chin going up to her cheek on one side of her face. He stopped chewing.

Jenny's expression was grave. "Assassination attempt," she said. Mike stared, and she cracked up. "Okay, no, it was an ice skating accident." She rolled up her sleeve to reveal a purpling bruise up her arm to her elbow as well. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

Mike waved, closed his mouth, and continued chewing. She gave him a minute, dealing with dishes and leftovers and puttering around the hot water with some tea, then, when his mouth was slightly less full, she sat down as well, handed him a cup. "How was work?"

"If you can call that work," Mike said, stretching. "More like slavery. It's a good thing this is only for the week around Christmas, or I'd actually have some arm muscles by the time they throw me out."

Stacking boxes and doing inventory wasn't his definition of fun, but he couldn't exactly afford to be picky. At least he was working with books. Sometimes, when no one was looking closely, he even managed to get through a few dozen pages of whatever section he was working in. Today, he'd half-finished 'Anna Karenina'.

"You'll find something that suits you better soon," Jenny said encouragingly. "Don't stress. You know you can stay for as long as you need to."

"Thanks," Mike said, taking another bun. "Though I wish I could be out of your hair already. Trevor's too. I'm sure he's sick of me hanging around here while he's trying to have loud sex with you."

Jenny laughed, flushing bright red. "I'm sure he'll survive. Listen, you know how you were so sad you couldn't go ice skating with me today?"

"Yeah?" How could he forget? It wasn't that he was so desperate for anything sweet on a stick, but ice skating tended to attract the queer boy population like nothing else besides maybe glittering fairy lights, and he knew that getting laid was one solution to the tightness in his chest that probably meant he'd caught a cold somewhere.

"I got you this instead."

Mike looked at the envelope she handed him, back at Jenny, and then took it and opened it gingerly. Inside was a ticket to a basketball game. Mike cleared his throat. "Are you sure you didn't get this for Trevor? Because I distinctly remember him saying that he loves basketball. Twice. Or three thousand times in the past two days. It might even be on his birth certificate. Trevor, son of basketball."

Jenny made a face. "He can get his own damn ticket if he wants one so badly. Anyway, let's call it an investment in my sex life. Aaaand your sex life, stop looking at me like I'm Machiavelli. The seat next to yours belongs to the very handsome stranger I crashed into at the skating rink this afternoon."

Mike perked up at this. "I don't actually hate basketball," he mused. "It can be fun as long as Trevor isn't trying to show off by quoting stats at me."

"Poor Trevor," Jenny said. She didn't sound sorry at all. "Seriously, though, you should go. You haven't been out except to get drunk in ages. You deserve to have some fun."

Mike checked the date. "It's tomorrow! I have plans tomorrow! It's drag Friday. Or as you probably call it, dressing up in slutty skirts and getting completely hammered Friday."

"The game starts at 7.30." There was a distinct note of judginess in Jenny's voice that he knew she was trying hard to hide. She'd once promised him not to tell him how to live his life. Mike still heard it, though.

"How do you even know he's gay?" he asked, just to be contrary. He was going to the game, he knew that already. "Are you sure he's not a creep? He just gave you the ticket?"

Jenny tilted her head, looking a tiny bit guilty. The bruise on her face didn't look so bad in this lighting. Still pretty huge though. "Well," she said. "I guess he might have been meaning to invite me? As compensation for the generous bruise on my ass? And my skinned elbow? And my _face_?" She smiled winningly. "I told him I couldn't go, but I had a wonderful friend who would love to join him."

Mike glared.

"He could be bisexual!" Jenny said. "Besides, you said you're going to that party in drag. Whatever, put on a skirt that covers a little more than your ass and you're good to go. I'm sure he'll love it."

Mike glared harder.

"Hey," Jenny shrugged, pointing her finger at his nose. "I'd pay good money to see this play out."

 

///

 

Madison Square Garden was crawling with people by the time Mike got there. He was dressed in his only decent-length skirt over a pair of tights (that, as it turned out, were the most uncomfortable devilish inventions from hell), and wearing the wig that, as Jenny had said, made him look like Katherine Hepburn in 1967. He'd never believed he could be a convincing drag princess, but after Jenny was done with his make-up, he'd had to admit, he wouldn't have betted a buck on anyone recognizing him as male.

He had a great seat; he figured this out as soon as he asked a few fellow fans for directions and got jealous glances at his ticket. One asshole murmured, "Wonder who she's fucking?" to his friend, and didn't even bother to keep his voice low enough for Mike not to hear.

Mike thought he wouldn't care where he sat. He thought, as long as he could watch the game comfortably and not have sweaty armpits in his face whenever a player dashed past him, he would be fine. He swiftly changed his mind when he stepped near the floor row and, spotting his seat, realized that the person who was sitting next to him, was, while indeed tall and handsome and probably filthy rich, the lawyer from the park a few days ago.

He almost turned around on his heel. But people were pushing left, right and behind him, level of noise and displeasure rising, and he had to take a step forward, and another step, and at some point, his heart stopped beating quite so hard and he realized that the chances of this man recognizing him here were slim to none. It had been dark, after all, and he was wearing more make-up than Lady Gaga on a good day.

He sat down. The man – Harvey, Mike reminded himself, looked up. His gaze trailed over Mike slowly, approvingly, and Mike shifted uncomfortably.

"So you're the mysterious ticket-donator," he said. He so was not the guy with the clever one-liners, he really wasn't.

"Harvey Specter," Harvey introduced himself. "You're Jenny's friend?"

"She says hello, and yes, the bruise is almost gone," Mike said. "Bit suspicious, though, chatting up a girl after an 'accident' like that, don't you think?"

Harvey's eyebrows rose. " _You_ came."

Mike was very much tempted to say _, 'not yet'_ _,_ but instead, he just grinned and shrugged. "What can I say? I like my dates dangerously unpredictable."

"In which case you won't enjoy this basketball game," Harvey said. "We all know how it's going to end."

"I guess I enjoy when both teams play a good game."

Harvey snorted. "What counts is who wins in the end, and the Nets have been a disaster this season."

"You can be about a good game, _and_ winning. And in any case, I wouldn't be so sure," Mike teased, because while he didn't give a fuck who won, he felt it would be more fun to give some parry. "I have a soft spot for the Nets, and the difference of that 83:81 games record isn't statistically significant."

Harvey, who'd looked away to watch the players run onto the playing field, turned his head back to Mike. He seemed pleasantly surprised. "And I was wondering whether I'd given that ticket to the wrong girl," he said wryly.

He was waiting for a name, Mike could tell. Mike pitched his laugh a little higher than usually and enjoyed the way he could play this, for once the one in control. "Not at all," he said. "I think this is turning out perfectly."

 

///

 

There was something extremely liberating about being unrecognizable. As much as he'd at first thought, self-consciously, that everyone would be staring at him, he was now practically asking for the attention. He didn't need to give a fuck what anyone thought of him, after all. Tomorrow, this person he was playing, this girl people saw, would no longer exist.

He screamed a lot. There were moments when he was worried Harvey might leave early due to acute hearing loss, but Harvey never said a word. He just watched Mike jump off his seat every few seconds and behave like the biggest idiot on the planet. Sometimes, there was a strange little smile curling up his lips, like he relished the abuse Mike was yelling at the New Yorker players.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked at half-time, while the masses of people around them moved like a giant, lazy ant colony.

Mike was sweating under the make-up. He felt like he should probably go to the bathroom to wash up, and that, too, made a strange kind of sense suddenly, why girls always did that. Well, that, and smaller bladders. Harvey had bought him a large coke earlier, so Mike now had the choice between peeing in his pants and the pleasure of standing in line for half an hour.

"I didn't think I would," he answered honestly, surprising even himself. "I didn't know what to expect."

"You've never been to a game before?"

Mike shook his head. He unconsciously hunched his shoulders and noticed too late; Harvey had already read him correctly. He didn't say a word though, just gave Mike another one of those smiles that Mike couldn't quite figure out.

"You watch them all the time, I assume?" Mike asked, his voice too defensive.

Harvey shrugged. "Not really. As often as I can, because I like basketball and I can afford it. More often than not, work gets in the way, though. I'm going to get us some food; are hotdogs okay?"

Mike felt color rise in his cheeks and he scowled. "I'm can pay for my own –"

"Look," Harvey interrupted. "I'm enjoying myself. The game's great, and so is your company. Consider it my contribution to making this a date."

He didn't stick around for an answer, the cowardly dick. Mike could understand perfectly why not. He had no idea how Harvey had even managed to get those words out in that casual tone of voice. Mostly, though, he just sat there, stunned.

 

///

 

He didn't make it to the bathroom after all, not quite trusting his legs to carry him after _that_ revelation. In the ten minutes it took Harvey to get them food, the second half of the four quarters started. To distract himself, Mike grabbed his camera and tried to surreptitiously take a few pictures for his portfolio. Davis and Green were passing the ball back and forth; a second later, an attack was interrupted, an intercepted pass, and the game turned. When Harvey got back, Mike quickly put the camera away.

"Thanks," he said and took the offered food. He didn't quite look at Harvey, biting into his hotdog the way any respectable gay boy swallowed sausage. When he lifted his chin, he saw Harvey's head swivel off to the other side _really fast_. Mike smiled into his napkin and when his mouth was clear, asked, "So whose seat did I take?

"Hm?" Harvey was back to watching the game with interest, nibbling on his bun. "Oh. Donna's. She's my secretary."

"Administrative assistant."

"What?"

"Admin – oh, well, forget it."

Harvey tore his eyes away from the field. "I don't think the term secretary in any way derogates her abilities, which, by the way, are vast and incomprehensible and probably a little magic."

"Well, I've been a 'secretary' before," Mike said, swallowing the last bit of bread. "And it doesn't matter what you think."

Which probably wasn't something Harvey got to hear very often, by the expression on his face. Instead of blowing up, though, Harvey took a moment to ponder this, then tilted his head and said, "I'll ask Donna."

"You're her boss. She might be afraid –"

"Believe me," Harvey interrupted him. "Donna has no idea what the word fear means. It's far more likely she'll fire _me_ , if I get this question wrong."

"Huh," Mike said, feeling mollified by the obvious respect Harvey had for this woman. "Now I'm sad that I didn't get to have a date with _her_ instead of you."

"Story of my life," Harvey said. He was grinning. "She's definitely not sorry, I can promise you that. She's lying in the Caribbean sun right now, getting a proper tan."

"I bet you could be on a white beach island, if you wanted to," Mike said. "So what's keeping you?"

"Work. Family. And by family, I mean my mother and younger brother," Harvey said, glancing at him. "You?"

Mike returned his gaze evenly. "No money. I would like to, though, since I'm not a Christmas person."

"No family?" Harvey deduced. When he saw Mike's face, he held up his hand. "Sorry, that was too soon."

Mike shrugged. "When you're right, you're right."

The game was slowly slipping into fourth quarter, and he watched the movements of the athletes for a while, following the ball with his eyes. The Nets scored a few more points and went in the lead, and the people in the seats next to him and behind him were cheering loudly every time the ball changed possession. He wondered if they could hear Harvey and him talk, or if the echo of the bustling hall was too loud to overhear their conversation.

"Jenny told me she's in grad school," Harvey said when the final break was called in, and the players scattered over the playing field once more. He crumbled up his napkin, and offered to take Mike's and throw it away.

"If that's a subtle way of asking if I'm in college, too, then wow, are you bad at subtlety."

Harvey's lips curled up in amusement. "Talking about suspicious, you're really good at not giving me any information whatsoever. Should I be concerned for my safety?"

"Hm." Mike returned the wide smile. "If it's worth as much as your boots, then probably."

Harvey laughed. It made Mike's stomach twist and plummet, the way his eyes brightened, crinkling at the corners. "Will you at least tell me your age?"

"No informational value in that," Mike said. "I am of legal drinking age, which should tell you enough. But you do get to ask one question that I'll answer honestly." He made a serious face and lifted a finger. "So think about it carefully."

Harvey nodded, and made a thinky face. Also, the game was about to conclude, and Mike agreed that cheering for his team to win was important enough if it put him one above Harvey on the betting scale.

 

///

 

When Mike had come here, he had known, of course, that nothing would come of this. It had been a fun way to spend the evening, a change of company to cheer him up. Whenever he looked down into his lap, he got another reminder that he was dressed up as a girl; and that Harvey was pretty obviously straight.

 _Bisexual_ , the little Jenny-voice in his head insisted. He ignored it. He couldn't afford to date this guy anyway. They weren't from the same universe. They weren't even from neighboring universes.

That was what went on in his head while they slowly made their way outside. Harvey had patiently waited for Mike to take a few more photos after the game was over, and most of the fans had dissipated by the time he was done. The rows of plastic seats were empty now, and the hallways no longer filled up to the point of suffocation.

"Thank you," he said softly when they stopped before the exit doors. He realized he was ducking his head and lifted his chin up, giving Harvey a small smile. Outside, people were passing the building, cars chasing by. His chest felt so tight, he had trouble forming words beyond that.

Harvey smiled back easily. "You're welcome." He looked like he was about to fidget, but didn't; he squared his shoulders and stepped a little closer.

"I should probably –" "Do you want to go for a drink?" They spoke at the same time.

Mike broke off with an embarrassed laugh. "I – what?"

"Drinks?" Harvey repeated.

"Is that part of the after-game ritual?"

Harvey gave him a wry look. "You really weren't kidding about only answering a single one of my questions."

"No, I just." Mike took a breath. He hadn't expected Harvey to actually ask him out, even though all the signs had been there. But now that it was official, out in the open, his blood thundered through his veins. His gaze dropped to Harvey's lips and his mouth went dry.

Harvey didn't need to move much to kiss, they were standing so close; all he had to do was lean in, tilt his head, just a split second…

And Mike ducked away. He had no idea what made him do it. He had – he _wanted_ to, really badly, and not just because his dick was telling him yes. Harvey was exactly what he wanted, and far too good to be true.

And Mike wasn't real. Mike was nothing like the girl Harvey had just met. It wouldn't be fair.

"Sorry," he blurted, flushed and confused, "Sorry, can we just -?" He moved in, gave Harvey a hug that left him with a scent of spice and amber in his nose as he added a quick, "Thank you", and ran off like the runaway bride. He didn't check if Harvey was following, and only stopped when the doors of the subway closed behind him.

 

//


	3. the camera on the roof

 

 _Sunday, December 18_

 

"So, you know that portfolio you have on the internet?"

Mike's head snapped up. He was sitting on the couch and the TV was running in the background while he was playing around on the internet. He'd been looking for a job, but the ones that said 'WANTED: SOMEONE WITH NO QUALIFICATIONS WHATSOEVER' were pretty rare. When Jenny sat down next to him, looking determined, alarm bells went off in his head.

"The one that's locked to my private google account?" he asked. "The one no one is supposed to know about because it's fucking embarrassing?"

"I hacked the password to that account in five minutes," Jenny told him. "'Pancakes' is not what I'd call strong security, in case you were wondering. Good CV, though you should probably update that when you have some time."

"Jenny!"

" _Anyway_ , and you can thank me by sucking my dick later, I got you a job."

Mike narrowed his eyes.

"I know, you told me you wanted to do it on your own, and I know you consider yourself an amateur photographer, but you can look at it this way: it's more you helping me out in a pinch than nepotism."

"Really." Mike didn't need to try very hard to put the skepticism in his voice. "So you should be sucking my dick, is what you're saying?"

"Shush, you," Jenny said. "My friend works at a firm downtown. She organizes their yearly Christmas party. It's this big event; everyone will be dressed up in suits and dresses and, this year, Venetian masks, and people have just the right amount of drink to be social but not vulgar. You know the kind."

"No, I don't think I do."

" _And_ apparently these people love to show off their expensive taste to a camera flash."

"They must have thirty photographers on retainer –"

"Just one. And he's stuck on the Philippines, don't ask me why. In any case, he won't be back in time for the New Year's party, much less the Christmas party." Jenny leaned forward and touched his hand. "My friend loved your work, and she said she doesn't mind that it's your hobby rather than your job. Come on, say yes?"

Mike bit his lip. He hated corporate events. He was an artist. He wanted his photographs to be admired in galleries, maybe shown in a museum one day, not on an office pinboard between the Hawaii firm holiday and the corporate dinner with the Chinese ambassador. But.

"200 bucks an hour," Jenny said, reading his mind. "It's not as much as the other guy would have gotten, but –"

" – he has a degree, yeah." Mike sighed. "It's still a shitload of money, so yes, I'll do it. Or – wait, what firm did you say this was again?"

Jenny pressed her lips together.

"Jenny."

"Pearson Hardman," Jenny muttered.

Mike glared at her _really hard_.

 

///

 

There was only one Harvey Specter, lawyer extraordinaire, to be found in New York City, and it was definitely the guy Mike had gone out with. Twice, if you counted non-consensual choking. It hadn't been hard to figure out which firm he worked for. He hadn't lied about the drug ring case either; it was kind of high-profile. Mike would have known what he was referencing if he'd thought to pick up a newspaper in the past weeks.

Mike's fatal mistake was to tell Jenny all about his heartbreak. She could never leave well enough alone, and that was how Mike ended up wearing one of Trevor's suits and a mask that was a last-minute purchase from _New York Costumes_ the following Friday evening. The mask, the salesgirl assured him, didn't look too ridiculous. It had cost thirty bucks, but at least its grey-black pattern was tasteful and didn't make him look like a feathered peacock.

The building was on Lex, tall and imposing with its high glass structure and big entrance doors. He'd gotten an electronic tag for the night and was pumped to see he didn't stand out among the people already milling in the entry halls, chatting.

He'd told Jenny he was going under protest, told her she was insane to try and get him to see Harvey again; but the truth was that he wanted to be here. He wanted to experience this world in which he didn't belong, to make himself see reason. He would ignore the tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach, a swarm of butterflies. He would ignore that he wanted Harvey to look at him again the way he had at the game. He would keep his mask firmly in place and know that this way, Harvey wouldn't even notice he was there. And then, Mike would maybe finally get him out of his head.

Jenny had told him to ask for Jessica, who was the firm's name partner, and to introduce himself to her, and to then find Ayako, who was the organizer of the event and Jenny's friend. Mike didn't usually consider himself self-conscious, but the prospect of meeting Jessica Pearson, whoever she was, made his palms sweat, so he looked for Ayako first.

"Your portfolio was really impressive!" she told him happily when he'd spotted her and introduced himself. "Jenny isn't the type to exaggerate, so I knew you had to be good. Nice mask, by the way."

"Thanks," Mike said "You too." She wasn't wearing hers yet, but it was bright blue with little diamond rhinestones at the edges, very similar to her dress.

"Rachel! Hey, Rachel!"

A tall, incredibly beautiful woman in a dark dress lifted her hand and, a second later, joined them, parting ways with the group of people she'd been chatting to.

"Rachel, this is Mike." Ayako gestured between them. "Mike, Rachel is a paralegal at the firm. Since I have tons of shit that needs to be done, and she's great at networking, she'll show you around?" When Rachel nodded, Ayako gave them a sweet wave and took off.

"Nice mask?" Mike offered, even though she didn't have one.

"Oh please," Rachel said, rolling her eyes. "Why don't you comment on the weather too, while you're at it?"

Mike gave a surprised laugh at the frankness. "Would you rather I compliment your dress?" he asked. "I could be stereotypical, for you."

She seemed to get that he hadn't been hitting on her, then, because her shoulders relaxed. "Man, you photographers and your fashion sense," she said with a wink, taking his arm. "It's appallingly unfair. Have you met Jessica Pearson yet, by the way? I'm sure she would love a good picture, especially after the disaster last year."

"What happened last year?"

"Photoshop," Rachel said in a low, sordid voice, and started telling him the story.

 

///

 

So Mike met Jessica, who was delightful, and also scary. He met most of the senior partners, and a few of the junior partners. Some of them were pleasant, some of them not so much; and everywhere, no matter where he looked, there was Harvey. He was wearing a mask, of course, red-golden, a perfect fit against his pale gray suit, but it was unmistakably him, the same body language from the other day, the same confidence.

Mike had known beforehand that Harvey was one of the big stars of the firm, and watching him interact with everyone, it became soon clear that in this firm, the line was dividing two extreme poles: those who were stupidly jealous, and those who were so completely in love with him that it was hard to watch.

Mike told himself he wasn't either of those things, and wandered off to find a glass of horrendously expensive champagne, and a plate of finger food. Harvey was just social and charming, that was all. He navigated his co-workers like a sleek Greek war ship, but that didn't mean he was worth all this attention.

Especially Mike's, who had a job to do that didn't involve staring at Harvey from afar while Harvey flirted and danced and had deeply engrossing conversations with beautiful, rich, successful people. And the longer Mike watched, the more he became aware that unlike them, _he_ was here for those couple hundred dollars he was going to get. So he turned away and took a few more photographs of people eating and talking and laughing.

It was a nice party. It was a lot more comfortable than he would have expected. Everyone behaved gracefully, everyone was nice to him. Mike would have thought, once people figured out what he was there for, he would be ignored at best, and ridiculed if they were at their worst. He didn't expect Rachel to wander over every now and then to see whether he was having a good time; he didn't expect Ayako to check up on him sometimes to ask whether he had everything he needed to do his job, and to remind him not to work on an empty stomach.

Still, by the time three hours had passed, he had so many photos that his memory card had run out of space and he'd had to replace it with his backup. He figured it was enough to allow him to leave his post and wander the building.

There were offices everywhere, corner offices, window offices, cubicles, all decorated with winter greens and jingling bells and red ribbons. He took a few pictures of them, of the darker spaces where the lights didn't reach. He took in the view from the windows, especially once he'd made his way all the way to the very top of the building.

There was an elevator exit onto the open roof, which he hadn't expected. It was deserted, and the walls dirty with grime, covered with lily-white snow. The cold wind was whistling loudly, and he started to shiver almost immediately, but he also didn't feel like going back in just yet. The smell of winter was strong up here, and comforting. He put his camera bag down on a snow-clean spot next to the elevator and was about to take up some of the snow to occupy himself with, when he realized he wasn't alone. It was just his luck, of course, that Harvey had a habit of coming up here to smoke.

"Does your mother know you do that?" he asked, unable to stop himself. He should have gone back down, avoided being spotted. Instead, he took a step forward, drawn to him like to a heat source.

Harvey pursed his lips and inhaled one more time. Then he threw the cig to the ground to put it out with his foot. He sounded cutely sheepish when he said, "I only smoke one or two a month."

"Oh well, that won't kill you. Probably." Mike could feel his answering smile form when Harvey grinned, and a spike of arousal made him breathe harder, a crackle in the air between them.

"Who're you, then?" Harvey asked, intrigued. "First year associate?"

He hadn't taken off his mask, Mike realized, and felt a rush of relief at that. "I don't think we're supposed to tell," he said with some smugness. "You'll have to wait for the big reveal just like everybody else."

"Good thing I'm not like everybody else, then."

"High opinion you have of yourself," Mike said. He glanced at Harvey's mouth, then caught himself and moved out of the wind, putting his arms around himself against the cold.

"And one isn't allowed to have one, when it's warranted?" Harvey asked, following.

Mike tilted his head. "Depends on your definition of warranty."

Harvey's teeth flashed white when he smiled. "You don't work for this firm, you're way too cheeky for someone who could lose his job."

"You're wrong," Mike said, happy that he wasn't technically lying. With another step back, he hit the wall and winced.

"If you worked here, you would know that I hardly ever am," Harvey said slowly, closing in.

He smelled of champagne and cigarette smoke, and it should have been disgusting, but instead, it was dangerously addictive. Mike took a deep breath and half-closed his eyes behind the mask.

"There's something familiar about you," Harvey continued, and reached for the mask. When Mike intercepted him, he instead curled his fingers around Mike's elbow and pressed his arm down. Mike looked up, heat pooling low in his stomach. Harvey was gazing down at him with a mix of puzzlement and desire, like Mike was a riddle he had to solve.

Bisexual after all, Mike thought, a giddy prickle up his spine.

"I don't fuck people I work with," Harvey said when their lips were barely an inch apart. "But you – I remember you, you're –"

Mike closed his eyes on inhale; then tilted his chin up and closed the distance between them.

Harvey's mouth was hot against his own, hotter yet because of the icy cold around them, and his body was warm, too, pressing into Mike's like it was the only place where he fit perfectly. There was a desperate air to the kisses, soon growing harder and faster, and then Harvey was pushing his tongue into Mike's mouth, deep and wet and aggressively honest. He smelled the same as before, the same scent, a little bit of sandalwood with the spice, and it turned Mike on so much he couldn't help his hips snapping forward, pushing his dick against Harvey's thigh.

Harvey's hands grasped his hips, holding him steady. He ground down against Mike's front, rubbing them together, pressing him against the wall at his back so hard, Mike had a moment of panic about the suit. He forgot all about it when Harvey licked over his lower lip and bit down, hard, making Mike moan.

Harvey went for his fly; the kiss turned slower, deeper. And just as Mike wanted to give in, let him have this, body melting languidly loose, Harvey tilted his head just wrong, catching on the edge of the stupid mask. When he jerked back with a curse, Mike froze.

"Fuck," Harvey repeated.

"Yeah," Mike said rigidly. He pushed Harvey away, icy fingers working his pants button clumsily as his heavy breathing slowed. "Let's not fuck. In a universe of bad ideas, this is _the_ worst idea – look, Harvey –"

"You're –"

"I need to go."

Mike didn't want to hear what Harvey thought. His lips were sore, and his cock was protesting the development vehemently; but Harvey had caught on to who he was, and once he realized what Mike was doing here, that he wasn't part of all of this, just someone making a little cash on the side, he would – they would both end up mortified. And call him a coward, but Mike didn't want to be here for that.

 

///


	4. the thief of virtues

 

 _Saturday, December 24_

 

Jenny had, of course, asked him what had happened, when he'd come home last night. Mike hadn't told her much; it was pretty mortifying. He hadn't thought one _could_ get fired from a one-evening job, but then, being the first in stuff like this was one of Mike's specialities.

He'd told her that he was exhausted, tired of being used all the time. That hadn't been such a good idea, apparently. She'd called him an asshole and left.

It was fine. Everything was just great. He'd spent the morning in his lonely little room, reading a book, drinking tea, and not thinking of Harvey at all. Harvey had probably forgotten he'd ever met Mike by now. He'd been drunk and out of control last night, not something one remembered fondly.

Sometimes, Mike wondered what it was that made him unable to just fuck someone like that, on the roof of a firm building while the Christmas celebrations were going on downstairs. Or maybe it was just Harvey, with his crinkly, shining eyes when he smiled, and the way he made Mike feel calm and whole and not the pathetic loser that he usually was.

When he left his room in early afternoon, still in his Star Trek pyjamas and cookie crumbs on his cheek, he realized Trevor had brought home a Christmas tree the day before. It wasn't Rockefeller Center, and it looked sadly bare, but there it was, standing proudly in the living room, a few packs of decorations from one of the Christmas shops beside it. Trevor was not the sentimental type at all, and he wasn't a Christmas person usually either, so it came as a bit of a surprise.

Trevor was sitting on the couch with Jenny, but he got up when Mike kicked his shin. "You looked miserable," he said and shrugged in his typical no-big-deal fashion. "I figured, since neither of us has any good memories of this, why not make a few new ones?"

Mike smiled, because that _was_ really sweet, and it made him feel less lonely immediately. He nodded, and said, "All right, let's do it!" but didn't get dressed. He just cleaned the cookie crumbs off his shirt and then helped putting the tree in the perfect spot before they started hanging up the colored lights and little angels and some of the ugliest ornaments he'd ever seen. Jenny, the lazy ass, sat on the couch petting the cat and took pictures, laughing at their antics and utter lack of color coordination. Mike was glad to see he was forgiven.

The apartment smelled of cinnamon and peanut butter cookies, a new batch Jenny had baked for the evening, and she had turned up the laptop speakers to play cheesy Christmas carols. Mike hadn't thought he would enjoy it this much, but by the time they were almost finished dressing up the tree, laughing and kidding around, he started a fight for who was going to get the honor to put the angel on top of the tree, so that he could hold onto the moment a little longer.

It worked, until the doorbell rang.

Trevor frowned, still locked in Mike's grip, steadily holding the angel out of his reach. "I'm not expecting anyone," he said, looking over at Jenny.

"Not me," she said, and gave Mike a telling look.

"I didn't invite anyone," Mike protested. "And anyway, I can't go open the door, my hands are full." They were full of Trevor, of course, but Jenny bought it. She rolled her eyes and uncurled her feet from under herself, heading for the front door.

"You do realize that my being taller makes me the appointed specialist for tree-topping?" Mike asked Trevor, attention back on his mission. It was, after all, a matter of life and death.

"You're like, two inches taller, and I have actual upper body strength, unlike some other people I could name –"

"I have been lifting boxes for weeks, look at my muscles and give me that –"

"No, no, no, no way, you will have to claw it out of my cold, dead hands."

"Don't worry," Jenny said loudly over their tussle. "You're not interrupting anything awkward or homoerotic. Hey Mike? Look who dropped in for a visit."

Mike let go of Trevor so fast he stumbled over himself and almost fell flat on his face. Thankfully, he managed to recover quick enough to save some of his dignity, though he had a feeling that there wasn't much left of it in any case. He could feel all settle eyes on him, and flushed.

"Mike?" Harvey asked.

"That's me," Mike admitted, flushing an even deeper shade of red. "How did you – no, okay, I'm not a complete idiot. I signed that contract with my real name."

Harvey smiled wryly. "Sorry about this. I didn't mean to disturb you in your home, I just figured you might want this back." He held out Mike's camera bag to him. "You took off in a bit of a hurry last night."

"Yeah. Thanks," Mike said. His throat was suddenly very tight and he had to blink a few times taking the camera back. He'd been so occupied with everything else, he'd completely forgotten he'd left it on the roof.

"Look." Harvey took in his surroundings with a frown. "Could we maybe talk?"

"Of course you could, in private, even!" Jenny announced to no one in particular. She grabbed Trevor by the arm before he could open his mouth and ask what the hell was going on. "We'll just be going to the shop downstairs. Go, go, the door is over there."

Harvey and Mike watched them march out of the apartment. When the door fell closed, Mike frowned. "Did she just -?"

"Maybe you should –?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I will, just. My room's over there. If you wanted to, uh. Wait there." Harvey didn't protest, so Mike went over to the front door and pulled it back open. Trevor didn't look very pleased, and Jenny just looked cold.

"That was silly," Mike said.

Jenny made a face. "I had to think on my feet. But yeah, it was stupid. Let me just grab our jackets, though, and you'll have the apartment to yourselves."

"You don't need to leave," Mike said. "It's your apartment."

"Yeah," Trevor said. "That is true. Why do we need to leave again?"

Jenny gave him a pitying glance. Then she reached with her hand into her hoodie pocket and pulled out something, pushing it into Mike's hand while giving him a quick hug.

"Believe me, we do need to leave," she said in a low voice, smirk lighting up her eyes. "Here's your Christmas gift. Liberated from Harvey's jacket earlier, and I think you should make very good use of them and get yourself laid."

Trevor scrunched up his face. "Oh my god, really? That is so something I shouldn't have to know about my almost-brother. And also, I take what I said back, you can have the apartment, we're leaving."

Mike frowned. "But I don't just want –"

"Shhhh." Jenny put her hand over his mouth. "This guy found out who you were and brought you your camera back. He knows who you are. He knows what you do. He hasn't asked for you to change anything about that. Instead, he's waiting in your room right now for your stupid, but weirdly perfect butt. Now is not the time for complicated feelings. We're going to go, and you're going to remember: just… don't fuck it up, and no complicated feelings. Okay? Enjoy."

Mike watched them grab their jackets and boots and opened his hand from the fist he'd made around a couple of condoms and a packet of lube. He looked at the stuff in disbelief, then snorted and closed the doors behind them for the second time today.

 

///

 

"You're an idiot," Harvey told him when Mike stepped into his room.

Mike's eyebrows went up. "Sorry?"

"An idiot who helped with one of our cases, though," Harvey admitted. "I took the liberty of looking through your memory card, and some of the shots you took the night we met in the park show a major suspect interacting with the woman you helped escape. It's enough to get her on the stand."

Mike opened his mouth, and then closed it again. His chest hurt, a sensation like a crushed baby bird fluttering its wings. "Is…" he started, and cleared his throat, "Is that what you came here for?"

"No," Harvey said. "Well. I also brought you your check."

"What?"

"For your work last night. And some extra for the photos, since we need to be the legal owners. I have paperwork for that here that you should sign."

Mike bit his lip so hard, the pain grounded him enough to grab the check out of Harvey's hand and slam it onto the dresser by his bed. "Great, fine, leave the contract. I'll read it and mail it over if I agree."

"You really are an idiot," Harvey said, and stepped into Mike's space, catching his hand. He was wearing a new suit today, dark blue, fitting perfectly against his strong, slender frame. Mike hated himself for wanting to melt into it, take the cloth off of Harvey with his teeth, and do unspeakable things to him.

"I also found the pictures from the basketball game," Harvey said.

Mike snapped his mouth shut, reddening.

Harvey's mouth curled up in a smile. "Are you embarrassed?"

"No, I'm not."

"You are," he said, amused. "You – did you really think I wouldn't notice you were a guy? I didn't recognize you, but I sat next to you for almost two hours. You're good, but you're not _that_ good."

"So what, you just wanted to kiss me because?" Mike snapped.

Harvey's smile vanished. "I wanted to kiss you because I wanted to kiss you," he said softly. "I couldn't care less if you're wearing a skirt, or – are these Star Trek pyjamas?"

Mike crossed his arms in front of his chest and figured that it was possibly his day for walking around with a perpetual tomato attached to his neck. "So what?"

"Nothing," Harvey smiled. "It's cute."

"Thanks," Mike muttered. "So you – what do you want?"

"Not much I can't have," Harvey said loftily, and closed the distance between them. "Right now, I want to kiss you."

"And fuck, apparently. Don't look like that, Jenny has really quick fingers." Mike pulled the stuff she'd given him out of the pyjama pants pocket. "She stole these off of you and gave them to me."

Harvey had the decency to look a little guilty despite the smirk. "I promise to still respect you in the morning?"

Mike narrowed his eyes and attacked first, since that was, so he'd heard, the best defense. Harvey kissed back, at first surprised, and then no longer so surprised, and with a lot of enthusiasm.

"I wouldn't protest if you visited me in my office wearing that skirt, though, just saying," Harvey said, in between grabbing Mike's ass and pushing him back towards the bed.

Mike let himself fall and pulled Harvey on top of him, breathing hard. His mouth was red and puffy and thoroughly kissed, and his skin was tingling from head to toes at the thought that Harvey wanted to see him again. That this was probably him, asking Mike to – that this wasn't just a one-time thing, that –

"Jesus Christ, will you stop thinking," Harvey said, and Mike said, "Yeah, okay," because he'd promised, no complicated feelings, and also, because Harvey's fingers had slipped under his pyjama top and were making him arch his back, toes curling.

He could do that.

 

///

Written for Yuletide 2011.

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments, concrit and all, are appreciated! :) Thanks so much for your time!
> 
> This story was inspired by "Three Hazelnuts for Cinderella"; you can find a fanpage for the story [here](http://www.dreihaselnuessefueraschenbroedel.de/htmls_e/index.htm).  
> In Europe, this re-telling of the original Cinderella story by the Brothers Grimm and its accompanying movie is considered one of the best interpretations of the Cinderella story. The movie is shown every year around Christmas, and it is really worth seeing if you havne't seen it yet!  
> I tried to do this story justice as much as I could while still giving it a somewhat original spin. I hope you enjoyed it at least a little! :)


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